Lenora was in her studio when Margery arrived. A large canvas was propped on an easel, angled to take advantage of the early-afternoon sun. Lenora, apron in place and a determined gleam in her eyes, peered closely at the painting as she added some small detail.
Margery waited patiently in the doorway for her friend to notice her, not wanting to disturb her concentration. And, truth be told, to gather her thoughts—and her courage.
The past hours had been something of a haze. She’d not slept after Daniel had left her the evening before, instead sitting at her desk until the small morning hours, staring dry-eyed at Aaron’s portrait. And so she’d heard the commotion in the hall around dawn, had heard the low murmur of voices, Daniel’s telltale uneven gait. She’d known in her heart what was happening, that he was leaving. But though her heart cried out for her to stop him, the bone-deep exhaustion of grief from the revelation of the night before had kept her from doing so. There was no way a relationship would have ever worked out between them, seeing where they each stood on the subjects of marriage and love. That fact was doubly true now, knowing the part he’d had in Aaron’s death. And though she recalled with painful clarity how that one act had weighed on him all these years, though she knew deep inside that he was not truly to blame and it had all been a horrible accident, she could not now look at him in the same way. She would forever see him as the man who had ended Aaron’s life. And the man who had forever doused the hope in her that the blackmailer had been wrong, and her husband had not turned his back on his fellow soldiers.
Just then Lenora started, wide green eyes blinking owlishly at her. “Oh! Dearest, I didn’t see you there. What a lovely surprise.”
Margery moved forward to kiss her friend on the cheek. “I don’t mean to intrude.”
“You could never,” Lenora declared with a wide smile that quickly fell away as she scanned Margery’s face. “What’s happened?”
Instinct had her ready to declare that nothing was amiss. It was what she would have normally done, after all.
But she was through with prevaricating, through with hiding. She had come here with a purpose. And she would see it done.
She sighed. “Do you by chance have time for me? I’m afraid it won’t be pleasant.”
“I always have time for you, pleasant or otherwise,” Lenora declared without hesitation. She turned about, presenting her back to Margery. “Help me remove this apron, will you? And then we can have a nice chat.”
Margery had expected such a reaction. She had known Lenora for most of her life, after all, and they were closer than sisters. But that certainty did not stop the tears from burning her eyes as she undid the tapes and helped her friend tidy up her paint things. Soon they were settled cozily on the overstuffed plush sofa in the corner.
“Now,” Lenora stated bracingly, “you may talk to your heart’s content.”
Margery’s lips twisted as she looked down to her lap. “It’s not pretty.”
“The important things rarely are,” her friend murmured kindly.
Margery nodded. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth to begin.
But the words would not come. Where to start? There was so much she had been keeping secret, so much that needed to be said.
Lenora seemed to understand. She placed a comforting hand over Margery’s. “Just start at the beginning.”
“Of course.” Another trembling breath. And then, setting her shoulders, she did just that.
“Nearly a month ago, I received a blackmail letter.”
There was a beat of silence. “Well,” Lenora said, her voice faint, “I certainly didn’t expect that.”
“I assure you,” Margery said with a humorless smile, “I didn’t either.”
Still, Lenora seemed at a loss. She rubbed a hand over her forehead, as if to jar the information into an order that made sense. “But I don’t understand. Who in the world would be blackmailing you? And why?”
And here it was. The moment of truth, revealing that thing she had fought so hard to keep secret. All these weeks of working at finding a wife for Daniel in order to pay the blackmailer, all the while slowly but surely falling in love with him.
But if she looked at her friend and witnessed the horror and pity in her gaze she would break apart. And so she closed her eyes tight and forged on.
“The note claimed Aaron was a deserter, and that he died while betraying his battalion at Waterloo.” She swallowed hard. “This person claims to have witnessed it himself.”
“No. I don’t believe it; they’re lying.” There was no delay in the words, only utter conviction. Margery recognized that conviction; it had lived in her for weeks with what she thought was the sturdy foundation of her love for him. As the days passed, however, it had slowly grown weaker, eroded by a gradual doubt that had been all the more devastating for how silently it had undermined everything she’d believed. Until it had broken apart entirely last night in a moment of utter devastation.
“I thought so, too. At first.” Finally she looked at Lenora. Confusion and outrage twisted her friend’s beloved features, and Margery’s heart swelled with emotion at this proof of her devotion. For a split second she considered not telling the rest. Maybe, just maybe, with Lenora’s fierce certainty, she might forget last night ever happened and could return to those days of being blind to the truth.
But no, that door could never be closed again.
“I have since learned unequivocally that the letter was stating fact.” Like a floodgate breaking apart it all poured out of her then: her fear, how she’d hired herself out to Daniel to pay the funds to the blackmailer, how they’d quickly realized an attraction for one another. She told about the affair, the growing affection, the heartache of ending things. And then, heart in her throat, she told of Daniel’s recognition of Aaron’s portrait and his confession.
Through it all, Lenora sat silent. Her face, however, betrayed every emotion coursing through her, from horror to grief to fury to disbelief. Finally Margery, exhausted, fell silent. It was one thing to have it all bottled up in her head. Putting it out into the world made it all too real.
But she also realized, while it had brought the facts into unequivocal focus, sharing it had also eased some of the burden of it from her shoulders. And she knew in that moment she had been a fool to fear her loved ones might view Aaron differently, might love him less. Because the truth of the matter was, she didn’t feel different about him. She still loved him as much as she ever had. And that would never change.
Which also led to the realization that, though she had fallen in love with Daniel, there was room in her heart for both men.
It stunned her, that realization. She had thought that by falling in love again, she would be betraying Aaron’s memory. But the present and the future—whatever it might hold—did not change the past, and did not detract from the importance of her time with Aaron, or how deeply she loved him.
Lenora’s voice broke through the shock of that revelation. “My goodness,” she said, her voice faint. She slumped against the back of the couch. “And so you love His Grace.”
Margery, stunned, could only manage a weary laugh. “That’s what you took away from all that?”
“It does seem the most pertinent bit of information,” her friend murmured.
“And what of Aaron’s defection? What of the blackmailer?”
To Margery’s shock, her friend waved her hand in dismissal. “Not important.”
Margery gaped at her. “Not important?” she demanded.
Lenora’s head, which had been resting against the back of the couch, rolled to the side so she could spear her friend with an arch look. “Does it change your feelings for Aaron?”
An apt question, as she’d just been asking it of herself. But of course her friend would get to the heart of the matter, and so much quicker than Margery had. She deflated into the cushions. “No.”
Lenora grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “And there you are,” she said with a gentle smile. “I knew Aaron, and the only thing important to him was that he stayed true to himself. You know as well as I that he didn’t care for what others thought of him. He stood up to your father, gladly brought the censure of his village down on him for daring to marry up, and turned down Gran’s generous—and safer—offer to buy him a commission to do what he truly wanted. No matter what one terrifying moment might have pushed him to do, it does not change who he was. Or the fact that he loved you.”
Margery fought back tears. “And the blackmailer?”
Lenora pursed her lips. “That person is a fool to think Peter and Quincy and your grandmother won’t fight this matter to the teeth. And besides,” she continued with a wry smile, “I think this family has experienced its fair share of scandals, including a blackmail attempt or two. Should you wish to pay, we have the funds to help you. Should you wish to fight it, we shall lead the charge. And should you choose to weather the scandal, we’ll be at your side for that as well.”
The tears Margery had been holding at bay spilled over. Right away Lenora was there, wrapping her arms about her, smoothing a hand over her back.
Margery sank into her embrace, the fears of the past weeks finally easing. “I’ve been so afraid,” she whispered into Lenora’s shoulder.
“You silly thing,” her friend murmured, her voice thick. “You should have come to us immediately.”
“I didn’t want you to hate Aaron.”
“We could never,” she declared with a certainty that prompted more tears, though these were borne of relief. “We will always love him the same as we always have, not only for the good man he was, but also for how deeply he loved you and wanted you to be happy.”
But suddenly Lenora pulled back and looked her friend in the eye. “That, of course, does not answer the most important question: What will you do about His Grace?”
Margery extracted a handkerchief from the pocket in her gown and wiped her eyes. “There is nothing to do about Daniel.”
“Isn’t there?”
“No,” Margery said, slow and precise lest her friend read something into it that wasn’t there.
Lenora pressed her lips tight, a mulish expression that said they weren’t quite done with the subject. But, blessedly, she did not push. Instead she asked quietly, “When is the blackmail money due?”
Margery exhaled, reality crashing down on her once more. “In a little over a sennight.”
“What will you do? For I’m sure you comprehend that, if you pay this person what they demand, they will come back for more.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I’ve been doing my best to focus on one step, one day at a time. But I’ve always known deep inside that this would only be the beginning.” She gave Lenora a sad smile. “And so you see, even if I was of a mind to be with Daniel—if he would even have me—this right here would be reason enough to stay as far away from him as possible. I would not want him to be polluted by this scandal should it one day come out.”
“I have a feeling,” Lenora murmured with an affectionate look, “that he would not mind any more than us, especially if he loves you as much as I believe he must.” When Margery opened her mouth to denounce such an idea—never mind the surge of joy it brought her—Lenora held up a hand in surrender. “But I promise not to say another word about it,” she declared. “First and foremost, we shall see about securing you the necessary funds should you need them. There will be time in the next few days to decide what path you wish to take.”
As Lenora made to rise, however, Margery stopped her. “But I already have the funds.”
Lenora blinked, sinking back into the worn cushions of the couch. “I don’t understand. Your deal with His Grace was not completed. How did you get the money?”
In answer, Margery pulled a letter from her pocket and handed it over.
The confusion on Lenora’s face was quickly replaced with understanding as she opened the already-worn missive and read it over. Margery didn’t need to look over her friend’s shoulder; she had read it so many times that morning that she had it memorized.
My dearest Margery,
I cannot begin to make amends for the great wrong I’ve done. If I could go back in time and give my life up for Aaron’s I would. I will never forgive myself for his death, or for the hardships and pain I’ve caused you.
By now you know I’ve left for London. No matter my aversion to that place, no matter we were nearing the end to our agreement, I cannot stay on Synne knowing I might cause you pain. Though I know you might not wish for anything from me, please accept our agreed-upon sum, which I’ve enclosed. And please know that if you require anything at all, no matter what that might be, I’m at your disposal. I only want you happy.
Yrs,
Daniel
“Oh, Margery,” Lenora whispered. She hastily swiped at her cheeks. “He cares for you a great deal.”
“Lenora,” Margery warned, even as she fought tears herself.
“Well, what did you expect?” Lenora demanded. “I cannot keep my promise to not mention the possibility of something between you when I’m faced with his obvious devotion to you.”
“Devotion,” Margery scoffed softly, taking the letter back. Despite her dismissive word, however, she scanned the missive with hungry eyes. Lenora had read that in those carefully penned words? She saw that within the bold, inked script?
“And so you have the funds you require?” Lenora asked cautiously.
“Yes.” She frowned. “No.”
Lenora blinked. “I don’t understand.”
Truthfully Margery didn’t either. All she knew was she couldn’t take Daniel’s money, couldn’t use it to pay off that evil person who would ruin Aaron’s good name.
And though she knew such a sum was small in comparison to Daniel’s fortune, she knew deep down he had paid enough for that horrible, tragic accident. She wanted him to heal, to put it behind him. To forgive himself and come to terms with the past.
She looked down at Daniel’s letter, her fingers tracing the sweeping lines of her name on the paper. She should hate him for all he had taken from her. She wanted to hate him. Instead all she felt was a bone-deep weariness and sadness. She knew, despite everything, she still loved him.
She very nearly laughed, though it would have been a mad, manic sound. She had thought loving again would be a betrayal to Aaron’s memory. But the idea of that paled in comparison to this travesty, in loving the man who had ended her husband’s life. Had she lost sight of what she and Aaron had shared? Had she forgotten all he’d been to her?
She wouldn’t allow that to happen.
“I have to return home,” she said, the words escaping her before they had fully taken form in her mind.
Lenora blinked. “Home? You mean to the townhouse in London? But I thought you gave up the lease?”
“No, not to London.” She drew in a deep breath. “To Dewbury.”
There was no need to give her reason for returning. Not with Lenora. Understanding and sadness flared in her eyes. No, Lenora would know that returning to Dewbury, the little hamlet close to Epping Manor and the seat of the Viscounts Tesh for generations, did not mean Margery was returning to see her father.
She had seen her father once since he’d turned her out of the house, when he’d visited her in London just after they’d learned of Aaron’s death. He had decreed in his brusque way that she was to return to his home and care for her stepmother.
Margery had told him in no uncertain terms that she would never do that, and had not had contact with him since. And she had no intention of changing that now.
Aaron’s family home, on the other hand, where he had grown up, where she had been welcomed as a child, where she and Aaron had stayed for several days as a newly married couple shortly after their elopement before heading to London…
She bit her lip. Perhaps in going back there she might feel close to him again, and remember what they had been to one another.
And maybe, if God was kind, she might stop loving the one man she shouldn’t.